Author's note:

This is a Dark AU that takes place before AJ:AA and eventually, catches up to its events.

As the synopsis suggests, this is an established Kristoph/Phoenix and developing Apollo/Phoenix, because if you've read my previous works, you'd know that submissive Phoenix is my thing. This story delves into mature themes such as, physical/sexual/psychological abuse, questionable morals, mind games and the dangers of obsession. If this warning or the prologue's content and tone disturbs you, then please turn back. If it excites you, then by all means, I hope you will enjoy your stay.

"House of Cards" is my first multi-chapter Ace Attorney fanfic of foreseeable length. It's a little ambitious; I have no idea what I'm doing exactly, but I got the broad strokes figured out. If you like what you see, please give this story a follow. Reviews are always appreciated, be it comments or simple words of encouragement. Believe me, they go a long way.

House of Cards

by Dark Interval

Prologue

A pen scratched across paper; the frantic scribbling of practiced cursive vengeful and maddening in the otherwise silent bedroom. A window was left open, but the night air was still; the shrill wails of a passing ambulance lingering against the faint resonance of a speeding train in the near distance. On the wall, the quiet, rhythmic tick-tock of the clock seemed deafening. A young man with brown hair sat at his cluttered desk, hunched over his books; a single reading light shone over his notes and cast looming shadows on poster-covered walls. They were all Phoenix Wright; variations; the posters that is – Turnabout King and courtroom revolutionnaire turned tragic has-been, who fell from grace, fell out of law, and ultimately off the face of this earth. But the young man liked to keep them there. He liked to look at them – at that face, those eyes, bask in that sexy aura of conviction – and took great pride and pleasure in his fantasies.

The brunette's hair had a peculiar pair of spikes at the front, the rest of the short locks unruly from lack of hair gel to hold them back. But it was close to midnight, he was off work and there was no need to keep up appearances without his boss breathing down his neck. Instead, a different presence watched over him, motivated him; silent, invisible, imagined yet remarkably effective. Abnormal worship; an unhealthy obsession – call it what you will, but he wanted to make his hero proud… even if said hero didn't know he existed. Even if those brilliant blue eyes watching him weren't real despite him desperately wishing they were.

Phoenix Wright.

A large, strong hand gripped the pen; the complexion slightly tan and coarse; masculine like his physique, but his wide, expressive hazel eyes and soft youthful features bestowed him a certain boyish charm. The brunette was hard at work, slumped over his material, taking notes in quiet desperation, driven by his need for personal fulfillment. He would handle his first case one day; get behind that defense table; continue his legacy.

"One day, Justice. One – "

His phone rang and without once glancing up from his readings, answered it.

"Justice speaking."

"'Sup, Apollo! Miss me?"

The enthusiastic, carefree voice of his best and childhood friend made him smile despite his choice of words.

"No, not really. I was plotting how to get rid of you actually."

"Humph, they shouldn't let psychos like you study law! Some friend you are." Came the wry response, but it was without any real menace. In fact, the caller laughed it off. "Anyway, I just finished training for the week and I'm in the area. Wanna hang? Drinks' on me this time, I swear."

"Maybe next time. Studying."

"Studying again?! But it's Friday night!"

"Technically, it's already Saturday – "

"That's worse! Besides, aren't you already done with work this week?"

When Apollo started lecturing him about the difference between work and study, his friend blew him a raspberry.

"Ok, ok, I get it! Geez! Honestly, if I were you, I'd only hit the books when I actually get a case."

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" he replied with a pout. "Just you wait, Clay Terran. One day, someone's going to walk through the doors of 'Gavin Law Offices' and ask for Justice."

"Phfft! Of course they'll want justice. It's a law firm."

"Clay…" he said in warning and his friend chuckled. He rolled his eyes; sometimes he couldn't believe he was the younger of the two of them.

"As I was saying, one day, someone's going to come in with a big case – I'm talking real big – and specifically request for Apollo Justice, attorney of law – "

"You mean junior attorney of law," Clay corrected and Apollo wanted to strangle his friend so bad.

"Come on, Clay! Have a little faith!"

"It's not that I don't believe in you, Apollo. I do, more than anyone in fact," Clay defended, this time serious. "But your boss is the Kristoph Gavin and he's the best defense lawyer in the whole country!

"True… But does he have Chords of Steel?"

"I don't see how yelling's going to help your case…"

"Um… It… Instills… Blazing confidence?"

"Apollo, I'm being realistic. Why would they want you when they can have him?"

Apollo sighed and allowed his gaze to pass over his notes; his stacks of law books; the folders of incomplete paperwork he was due to hand his boss on Monday. They were cases and they were all Kristoph's. He was only made to fill in the administrative stuff in triplicate because his boss was always too preoccupied with ongoing trials to bother about miscellaneous crap like that.

Oh, the privileges of working for Mr. Gavin was indisputable, make no mistake. He still remembered how he almost had a heart attack when he had been selected out of the 200-over applicants to work at 'Gavin Law Offices'. If that wasn't an indication of his capabilities, then he didn't know what was. However, months following his employment met with little to no change: Kristoph was taking on more cases by the day and he was still stuck in the office daydreaming of his first courtroom debut. It was extremely frustrating considering the amount of hours he poured into his work beyond normal expectations. What was the point of studying so hard when he couldn't put theory to practice, when nobody would give him a chance? Also, he really wanted to point that pointer finger of his and shout "Objection!" at the top of his voice just once.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way." Clay paused, sensing his friend's sorrow through his silence. "Listen, I'll drink to your dreams." Apollo could practically picture Clay raise his shot glass in the air. "Here's to my best friend: may he soon receive his first big case and make a name for himself in the law books of tomorrow."

And despite his depression, he managed a grateful smirk.

"Thanks, Clay. But you know, Mr. Gavin wasn't always the best."

"Apollo…" He heard the man sigh, impatient yet sympathetic. "I know you practically worship the guy, but you got to stop mourning. It's creepy and really weird: you don't know him and he doesn't even know you exist. Besides, no one knows where he is; what he's doing; if he's still…"

"I know he's still out there, Clay," he interrupted fiercely, pressing his pen onto the paper so hard he bent its tip, "and he'll make a comeback. He's just waiting for the right moment. You'll see."

"But it's been seven years."

"I can wait."

"Do you really believe he's innocent?"

"I do."

"You're completely mental."

There was an exasperated edge to his voice and Apollo could practically see Clay shaking his head.

"Stop this nonsense, Apollo. As a friend, I'm begging you to relax. You're way too tense and if you work any harder, all your hair's going to fall out and you'll turn into a wrinkly old potato before you hit 23."

"Clay, I – "

"Tell you what: why don't you call it a night and go get off on those court videos you like watching so much? Get your Wright fix."

Apollo crimsoned and completely ignoring that lousy pun his friend just made, muttered, "I plead the fifth."

The last thing he heard was Clay's annoying laughter before he hung up on him. This was why he didn't miss him. Clay always knew which buttons to press and he tended to press all of them at once.

Apollo ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, face still hot and red from his previous embarrassment. He glanced up at the posters, at the various poses of his sharply dressed hero for inspiration; an answer; something. They originally meant to serve as motivators, but now proved insanely distracting. He heard Clay's words replay in his head; knew the blush on his cheeks was still there. How the hell was he supposed to concentrate now? His gaze traveled to his television, specifically at the laptop connected to it and bit his lip like he was resisting something wholly immoral.

Maybe just one video.

He switched off the reading light and plunged the entire bedroom into darkness; the only source of light streamed in through the window from the dim glow of streetlamps outside. Then, he selected his favorite trial – the DL-6 incident – and threw himself onto his bed, propping his chin on his elbow as he took in the familiar scenes, speeches, faces… him.

He had watched this trial a thousand times, memorized the lines by heart, but he simply couldn't get enough of how his hero carried himself that day. Phoenix Wright was more than just confident; he was on fire, unstoppable, fearless. The way his jaw set in determination; eyes blazing with conviction and an inherent desperation to protect his client and childhood friend; raining objection after objection on his opponent; going against all odds and at such lengths to pursue the truth, uncaring of the consequences… It was a mysterious blend of professionalism and character, an untamed passion for order and justice, and Apollo relished it. He knew every tactic, saw every involuntary twitch, felt the intensity, and involuntarily shuddered.

Hot. He felt hot and an unmistakable pressure between his hips. Shit. That was fast – much faster than previous nights. His hands traveled downwards and with a swift tug, it didn't take long for his boxers to fall to the floor.

'Hold it! I've made my case transparently clear: there was only one gun in the lift, two shots were fired, but only one bullet was recovered from the crime. Someone else shot Mr. Gregory Edgeworth and took the evidence with them… a piece of vital evidence they no doubt still have on them until this day!'

The video continued to play and Apollo lowered the volume to a comfortable level. Then, he rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He could picture Phoenix's expression in his mind's eye: triumphant, smirking; taste the man's desperation for the truth on his tongue. Likewise, he too was desperate, but for something – he shamefully conceded – completely different and definitely far less philosophical.

'Objection! The second bullet does exist and I'll prove it!'

Phoenix's voice grew in its intensity; tension in the courtroom spiked. Apollo wanted to experience that raw passion himself, tame the flame that burned deep within Phoenix's heart, and set it ablaze with his own hands. He wanted to own him; worship every inch of him; love him.

Apollo's breathing turned heavy, panting; and through half-lidded eyes he stared up at the posters – images of his hero in all his glory. They seemed to surround him, occupy his thoughts, cloud his judgment, and fuel his desire. He reached down to wrap his hand around his arousal. It was hard, dripping precum and throbbed painfully in untold anticipation. Blushing, he forced aside all indignity and allowed himself this private moment of guilty indulgence. He touched himself and moaned.

The first few times had been awkward, embarrassing, clumsy – was he defiling his hero's honor with his base urges? But the more he did it, the more satisfying it got, and the less he cared. And then, over time, masturbating to thoughts of Phoenix was no longer enough – it evolved into the desire to claim him, tear his clothes apart, roll and pinch his pretty pink nipples between his fingers and take him hard and fast, over and over.

"S-Sir… feels so – ah! – amazing…!"

As he continued to stroke himself with Phoenix's voice playing in the background, he wished that hand around his cock was something else; wished to open his eyes to see a submissive Phoenix riding him, nothing but his open shirt and tie hanging off his beautiful naked body, back arched sexily and screaming his name in pure bliss as they fucked. But he kept his eyes shut because he knew that once he opened them, the illusion would shatter, he'd be back to staring at pictures in-between office breaks, and nothing would change.

"Mr. Wright…"

He had watched this trial a thousand times, but this time, he didn't feel guilty cumming to his hero's name on his lips.

To be continued...

Author's note:

I hope I didn't make Apollo too creepy lol. My main focus was to push that whole "hero worship" idea into something borderline obsessive. I wanted to show how much time has passed since Phoenix's peak and that seven-year gap, so I thought what better way to do it than through old court videos. The prologue is something different than what I would normally write, but then what's fun without a little challenge?

Playlist for "House of Cards" can be found here: /darkinterval/sets/house-of-cards
Alternatively, you can access the link from my profile. It's not complete yet, as I'll be slowly adding onto the list as I write.